


A superstore and the end of civilization as you know it

by IntoTheMiddleDistance



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Aziraphale Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley just wants to be friends so bad, M/M, No Arrangement, Pen Pals, You've Got Mail AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntoTheMiddleDistance/pseuds/IntoTheMiddleDistance
Summary: The Arrangement never happened, Aziraphale and Crowley went their separate ways. Aziraphale owns his bookshop in London and it doesn’t really matter that he never has any customers – until the big chain shop Eden Books moves in down the street, bringing Aziraphale’s old foe Crowley with it as manager. Crowley and Aziraphale clash face-to-face, but neither of them realizes they’ve been pen pals for the last 30 years – until Crowley puts it together and is faced with an important decision.Also Gabriel is there occasionally to bother Aziraphale, and Beelzebub sometimes checks in on Crowley.The You’ve Got Mail AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written fanfiction in my life (though I've been a reader for years). But somehow this idea came out of nowhere and grabbed me and wouldn't let go till I wrote it. So I did, and I hope that you all enjoy. Title is taken from a quote by Tom Hanks' character in "You've Got Mail."   
> Unbeta'd, not Britpicked. Constructive comments/criticism/etc absolutely accepted.

Humming softly to himself, Aziraphale flipped the sign on the front of his bookstore from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open.’ He poured himself a cup of cocoa and sipped slowly, then chose an old favorite novel from a nearby shelf and settled down to read. The odds that any of the very busy mortals passing by the storefront would decide to come in were slim, so the morning continued for Aziraphale just as so many of his mornings did – in blissful silence.

Around noon, however, the angel began thinking about lunch. Angels didn’t technically have to eat to survive. But in his many centuries on Earth, Aziraphale had developed an interest in food, and indulged frequently. He flipped the sign on the bookshop again and decided to walk downtown to one of his favorite sushi restaurants. There was construction going on at the end of the street, but in his hurry he didn’t pay it any attention.

After a superb lunch (the chef at the sushi place knew Aziraphale quite well and always made him something special), Aziraphale headed back to his shop. This time he stopped to watch the construction for a moment, trying to figure out what type of shop might be moving in, and why it was so large. He performed a minor miracle so all of the workers would stay safe during the build, and then walked back home.

The day passed quietly. The sole customer who’d entered curiously had quickly exited after seeing the prices. It was getting late and Aziraphale had finished his book and was preparing to close for the night. The bell above the door rang. Aziraphale frowned slightly at the clock on the wall. It was highly unusual to get two customers in one day, and especially odd to have someone come in so late. He poked his head around the shelf absently, cocoa mug in hand.

“Be with you in a moment!”

“Angel.”

Aziraphale almost dropped his mug.

“Crowley?” He said.

The demon grinned at him, removing the sunglasses that kept his yellow eyes hidden. “Hello Angel.”

Aziraphale tried to keep the shock from his voice. “I haven’t seen you in – oh, several hundred years, at least.”

The demon waved a dismissive hand. “I slept through most of the 19th century. And I had other places to be. It’s not like I’ve been keeping tabs on you, though it wouldn’t be hard. You’ve been in the same location for centuries.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. He struggled to find a cutting response, and came up empty. “You’re looking well.”

This was true. Though he was still stubbornly clothed in all black, 21st century styles suited Crowley, and he’d finally cut his hair to a decent length.

“I like this century,” the demon said, “there’s quite a lot to get up to. The other day, I tied up all the phone lines in Central London for 45 minutes.”

Aziraphale must have looked confused, because Crowley sighed deeply, shoulders slumping a little.

“You look just like Hastur when I told _him,_ ” Crowley grumbled, “he said it wasn’t craftsmanship.”

“Craftsmanship?” Aziraphale repeated, “Demon work is _hardly_ craftsmanship.” Having recovered from the shock of seeing Crowley in his bookshop after hundreds of years not seeing him at all, Aziraphale re-attained his stiff upper lip.

“Why, may I ask, are you here?”

Crowley grinned.

“I am here, Angel, because I’m checking out the competition.”

“Competition?”

“Yes. Maybe you noticed the construction down the street? It’s the newest location of Eden Books, the fastest-growing bookshop chain in Britain. I’ll be managing this one persssssonally.” Crowley let a bit of his old sibilance sneak through on the last word, just to watch Aziraphale squirm a little. Though the angel shifted uncomfortably, he kept his face carefully blank.

“I really don’t think we’ll be competitors, Crowley. I sell – or rather, don’t sell – extremely rare books and first editions. The type of volumes a chain shop is unlikely to carry.”

“You’d be surprised, Angel, you really would,” said Crowley, halfway out the door now that he’d said his piece. “In any case, consider yourself warned,“ and then, much to Aziraphale’s annoyance, Crowley was gone, and he’d gotten the last word.

Huffing, Aziraphale went and closed his shop door properly, and flipped the sign to ‘Closed.’ He took a sip of his cocoa but it had gone cold. A minor miracle got it steaming again, and Aziraphale chose a book and settled on the couch to read. But his mind kept going back to the sight of Crowley, and his infuriating swagger, standing in the middle of _Aziraphale’s_ bookshop grinning broadly at _Aziraphale’s_ discomfort.

“Blast,” the angel muttered to himself, setting aside his book and miracling up a pen and paper. He wouldn’t be able to relax again until he’d written his feelings down, and he knew just the person who would listen.

_Dear Friend,_

_I must apologize for writing to you in a bit of distress. You know I do usually try to keep things cheerful, but this evening I am at a loss. An old acquaintance from my past intruded upon my life less than an hour ago, and it’s left me quite shaken. I haven’t seen him in years. To be honest, I wasn’t really certain I’d see him again, ever. Last I saw him, we didn’t leave things very well. But now he’s shown up again, in my place of work, and it appears he still sees us as competitors. I have no doubt that he’ll continue to antagonize me and I’m not sure what to do about it all. I trust your counsel and I was wondering: how you would suggest proceeding?_

_Your dear friend,_

_A_

For the past thirty-odd years, Aziraphale had been exchanging letters with a pen pal. Even though the concept of letter writing was largely considered dated and old-fashioned, Aziraphale loved putting pen to paper and getting a physical reply. Early on, he and his pen pal had established a few basic rules for their correspondence – no names, personal information, or addresses. Aziraphale rented a post office box, and his pen pal did the same. With no names allowed, he simply called himself ‘A,’ after his pal had begun signing letters with ‘C.’ 

Though he knew nothing truly personal about the man – he did think his pen pal was a man; it was something about the writing style – Aziraphale felt like he and his pen pal were friends. He had considered asking ‘C’ if he wanted to meet, but had no idea how the suggestion would be received. Even if he never met him, it was comforting to know that he could share his troubles with someone who genuinely wanted to listen. Every once and a while the archangel Gabriel would pop down to check on Aziraphale, sometimes bringing Sandalphon or Uriel with him. But Gabriel didn’t really _care_ Aziraphale or anything he had to say. Gabriel just cared about keeping Aziraphale in line.

Aziraphale took his letter, placed it in an envelope, and went outside to stick it in the post box at the end of the street. Afterwards, he walked a little further down to the construction he’d passed by earlier, and saw that a sign had gone up: _Future home of Eden Books_. It was a warm night but he shivered a little. Funding and managing a chain of bookshops didn’t seem very demonic – but if Crowley was involved, no good could come of it. Unsettled, Aziraphale went back to his own shop and spent an uneasy night.


	2. Chapter 2

Despite his deep and abiding fondness for sleep, Crowley spent the night wide-awake as well. Seeing Aziraphale again, walking nonchalantly into the bookshop the angel still owned, had revived all the feelings Crowley had spent a century trying to sleep away.

Ever since that business in the garden with the apple, Crowley had – not had a _crush_ on the angel, that was ridiculous, but – a _fondness_ for him. Ever since Aziraphale had confessed to giving away his flaming sword. It was terrible. Especially since Aziraphale had made it quite clear, again and again, that he was not interested in The Arrangement the demon had been suggesting for thousands of years. He was not interested in being Crowley’s friend, or having anything to do with him. And so Crowley had slept for a century and then gone travelling. He’d tried to forget. He’d really tried. But there he was, back in London, opening up a competing bookshop down the street from the angel’s. It was the type of move that practically screamed, “Notice Me!”

The powers that be hadn’t understood when Crowley had suggested that opening a chain of bookshops was, in fact, a terrible and demonic thing to do. He could still remember the utterly blank expressions on Hastur and Ligur’s faces when he’d explained the motives behind it.

“Listen,” he’d said, “Chain shops are definitely demonic! They drive smaller, independent merchants out of business all the time, and they promote mass consumerism!”

“But – bookshops?” Ligur had said, with Hastur nodding in agreement.

“Yes! Of course!” Crowley made it sound like the most obvious thing in the world. “Knowledge is power! The more people read, the more they start to question the establishment! Books topple governments! Why do you think the library of Alexandria got torched?”

“One of my finest moments,” Hastur had said with a smile, and Crowley knew he’d won.

Since then, Eden Books had overtaken even Waterstones as the premiere book retailer in Britain, and also had branches in most European countries. Crowley had put hundreds of smaller bookshops out of business, and thousands of people had lost their jobs. He tried to tell himself that Aziraphale and his bookshop would just be another casualty, nothing personal. But he knew deep down that wasn’t true.

*

The next morning, Aziraphale was feeling the effects of his sleepless night. It was one thing to know that you didn’t actually need sleep, and another to be up all night thinking and fretting and wishing that you _could_ sleep. He miracled his congealed cocoa hot again. Aziraphale stood in the center of his shop, looking around at all of his beautiful books, and he worried.

He’d had the shop for centuries now, and of course no one had ever bothered him about rent, or the fact that he only actually sold books when he absolutely had to. Another bookshop moving in down the street ordinarily wouldn’t bother him. But Crowley was involved. The demon could actually interfere with things, and Aziraphale had no doubt that he would.

Abandoning his cocoa, Aziraphale put on his coat and left the shop closed for the day. The only sensible first step was to gather more information. Aziraphale knew opening a bookshop wasn’t demonic. Yet in the case of Eden Books it must be, otherwise Crowley wouldn’t be involved.

Several hours of research later, Aziraphale was no closer to any answers or any plan of action. He’d stood watching the construction workers building the shop down the street from his own. None of them had appeared to be emissaries of Hell. He’d walked into the city into another Eden Books location, and had found it – well, completely ordinary. Perhaps the romance and erotica section was larger than other bookshops, and perhaps the religion section was smaller and contained fewer Bibles than one might expect, but – Aziraphale didn’t think that could really be considered demonic. He thought of some of the rare, misprinted Bibles in his own bookshop, especially the Bible with the extra verses in Genesis, and sent up a quick prayer of thanks that none of those versions were on the shelves at Eden Books. He’d actually found his visit there quite pleasant. The shop assistant who’d asked if he needed any help had been polite and friendly and hadn’t bothered him again after he’d said he was just looking. And the desserts and hot cocoa at the in-store café had been delightful.

Still, Crowley’s involvement needled at him. His purpose on Earth was to thwart the wiles of his demonic counterpart, but even after spending hours at one of the bookshops Crowley ran, he couldn’t find a wile to thwart. That left Aziraphale in an uncomfortable spot. He could tell head office that he needed help – but oh, he could see the smug expression on Gabriel’s face already. He’d never hear the end of it. The mere _idea_ of involving Gabriel or any of the others in his day-to-day life until the situation was resolved was a thousand times worse than dealing with Crowley on his own.

Aziraphale took his time walking back to his own bookshop, lost in thought. There had to be something he could do.


	3. Chapter 3

_A,_

_What a bastard that guy is. He’s got some nerve, showing up and bothering you like that while you’re at work. I’d have given him a piece of my mind. That’s what you should do next time he shows his ugly face. He wants to compete with you? I say you give it everything you’ve got. Make him regret his decision. Let me know if I can help somehow – you don’t deserve that shit._

_C_

Crowley re-read his pen pal’s letter, and then his own response. In the thirty-odd years he’d been writing to this guy, he’d never received a letter like this one. Normally his friend was all sunshine and rainbows, waxing poetic about all the wonders in the world in a way that should’ve put Crowley off. But he secretly found it endearing.

Crowley was a demon, he didn’t believe in goodness and light and all that crap. But the way his pen pal wrote about the little things that made him happy, made Crowley believe that maybe, just maybe, those things existed in the otherwise disappointing world. The thought of some jackass blast from the past suddenly appearing with the sole purpose of tormenting his pen pal infuriated him. He wished he knew who his friend was, so he could rain hellfire on the man’s enemies.

They’d never met, they were careful not to share too much personal information in their letters, but Crowley felt closer to his pen pal than he had to any other individual in his thousands of years existing. It was the kind of closeness he’d given up trying to cultivate with Aziraphale. Well – not entirely given up. With a sigh, Crowley stuck his letter in an envelope and miracled it to the nearest letterbox. He went into his greenhouse and took his anger out on his plants, spraying them with his pound-shop plant mister and threatening them until every single leaf in the room was shaking.

With his aggression worked out, Crowley felt ready to go check on the progress of Eden Book’s latest location. He got in the Bentley, turned on the radio (which blasted Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now”) and floored it.

*

It had been several days since Aziraphale had received an answer to his letter, and his pen pal’s response had given him a lot to think about. He’d finally decided that if Crowley wanted to send his shop out of business, he wouldn’t go quietly. Though the thought of actually selling his precious first editions was appalling, he’d managed to buy quite a few secondhand books from the local library and miracle them back into mint condition.

Since they were neither rare nor unusual, Aziraphale had no qualms about selling those books, and they were selling fairly well. He had also started a little in-shop café, just a small one, with local pastries from one of his favorite bakeries. The owner of the bakery had been more than happy to provide his most loyal customer with a daily assortment of fresh-baked delicacies at a very reasonable price. The bookshop had seen more customers in the past week than it had in the past several centuries. Aziraphale was a little sad for the loss of his peaceful free time, but Crowley and his plans would be thwarted soon enough and then he could put his beloved shop back the way he liked it.

“Thank you, please come again,” he said to a customer as he handed her an environmentally friendly canvas bag with her purchases in it. As she exited the shop, Aziraphale heard the faint strains of a Queen song and the honking of a car horn. The Bentley turned the corner and parked at the end of the street. The angel straightened his shoulders and his bowtie. Crowley was coming, almost certainly to check on the supernaturally fast progress of his shop being built. But he couldn’t fail to notice the way Aziraphale’s door was open, and the people coming inside.

Crowley did not disappoint. Only a few minutes after he’d parked, the demon stood in stunned silence in the doorway of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale felt the slight rush of air that indicated Crowley had stopped time, and then the demon spoke.

“Angel?” He sounded absolutely gobsmacked. “What is all this?”

Aziraphale took a long sip from the cocoa mug on his desk, trying to radiate an air of nonchalance.

“A bookshop, Crowley,” he said. “It’s always been a bookshop.”

“Yes, but – you’ve never actually sold anything!”

“I have now.”

It was extremely gratifying to see Crowley at a loss for words.

“If you don’t mind, Crowley, this is a business, so if you’re not going to purchase anything, I suggest you leave.”

Aziraphale started time back up again, and another customer immediately entered the shop, nudging past the still-frozen form of Crowley.

“Good afternoon sir. Is there anything I can help you find?” Aziraphale asked. By the time he’d helped the customer find a book on military history, Crowley had fled the shop and the street – the Bentley was gone. Not normally one to gloat, Aziraphale permitted himself a small, smug smile as he rang the customer up.

Much later, after the shop had closed for the night, the angel sat down and wrote his pen pal another letter.

_My dear C,_

_Words cannot express how grateful I am for your advice. You have helped immensely – you will never know how much. I did ‘give it everything’ I’ve got, and I believe I surprised him quite a bit with the changes I made. Perhaps he will rethink his decision to compete with my business and me. I don’t think he’ll give up – he’s quite a persistent sort of person. But I believe he knows now that I am not ‘going down without a fight,’ as they say._

_And again, my friend, I have you to thank. Thank you for your advice, your support, and your friendship._

_I wanted to take a moment to talk about you – I have rather dominated the conversation recently, but that’s not the purpose of writing to each other. We’re friends, after all, and I’ve been terribly remiss in inquiring about your life. I hope you are well._

_Yours,_

_A_

Humming a cheerful tune, Aziraphale mailed his letter and went inside. A quick miracle restocked the shelves dedicated to everyday books, and the angel decided that after the busy week he’d had, perhaps he would try and get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the first three chapters done! I wanted to put up as much as I could to start off, but from here forward I'm going to try and post a chapter a week (every Sunday, I guess, since these three went up on a Sunday) until the story is finished. No idea how many chapters that will take.
> 
> Anyway I hope you're reading and enjoying so far!


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale hadn’t been so busy in centuries, and after about a week of running a fully functioning bookshop he remembered quite well why he’d chosen to run (or rather not run) his shop in the past. This would thwart Crowley, the angel reminded himself as he handed a customer their purchases. Eden Books wouldn’t be able to sink its claws into the neighborhood, Crowley would leave, and Aziraphale could go back to the way things had been. Surely it wouldn’t take much longer. The demon hadn’t been back to the shop since that first visit after the angel had made some changes. Construction on Eden Books was complete, and it was scheduled to open the next day. The impersonal chain shop would fail. Aziraphale felt certain of that. Putting the cheerful “closed for lunch” sign on his door, Aziraphale settled in to relax for a half-hour and read the letter he’d received in the mail that morning. He’d popped down to check his post box early, hoping for a response from his friend.

_A,_

_Glad to hear it worked, and that wanker was surprised. You don’t seem to think he’ll give up – if he wants to fight, you can fight him. I’m sure you can._

_I’m doing ~~fine~~ ~~great~~ ~~smashing~~ okay. The business I’m in, there’s a competing company. And my counterpart – we’ve never really gotten on, but I didn’t think he despised me – now I think he does. My line of work, he’s really the only other person who understands the struggle. My company doesn’t care. He and I have never been friends but – I lost something, I think. _

_I’m glad I still have you._

_C_

Aziraphale’s heart ached for his pen pal and friend. Though the man hadn’t said so, Aziraphale could tell from the crossed out words and stumbling writing that his friend was lonely, and struggling. He’d mentioned his counterpart before, but always in sort of a passing way, as someone he knew he had a lot in common with but wouldn’t ever be close to. But the words “I lost something, I think,” hit Aziraphale hard.

Never in their decades of letter writing had Aziraphale wanted more from his friend. They’d set terms and agreed on them years ago, including the decision that they would never meet. But now, all Aziraphale wanted was to give his friend a hug, pull him into an embrace and help him see he had one friend in the world. His pen pal had helped Aziraphale so much in the past few weeks, and Aziraphale knew putting pen to paper wasn’t enough. But it was a place to start. He began composing a letter back.

_My friend,_

_You are, in fact, one of my oldest and dearest friends, and it pains me to hear you so despondent in your last letter. We’ve been friends for so many years, and we’ve respected the boundaries we put in place. But I must confess – I long to meet you in person, my friend, and talk to you face to face. Embrace you; perhaps take you for a nice meal. Your friendship has meant more to me than so many others. I’ve had my share of false friends in my life, but you have always been true._

_Do you think we could meet?_

_A_

Aziraphale folded the letter and stuck it in an envelope just as his doorbell jingled.

“What is all this, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked. The letter fell from Aziraphale’s suddenly bloodless hands. He forced a smile to his lips.

“Gabriel. What an – unexpected treat,” He said. The head angel stood in the middle of his bookshop, smiling without letting it reach his eyes as he looked at the changes Aziraphale had made. Gabriel spread his hands impatiently.

“Well?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well, um, you see, it’s that new shop going in down the street, Eden Books, you know, it’s um, the demonic presence is very strong there, and uh, I thought – well I thought that perhaps a little competition would um, run them out of business.”

“You think this place,” Gabriel gestured around Aziraphale’s shop disdainfully, “can run a national chain of bookshops out of business?”

“Ev-everything has to start somewhere, and I um, well I thought that if _this_ one branch of Eden Books went out of business, start small and all, I could work my way up.”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel clasped the angel’s shoulder. “This little shop of yours? It’s nothing. Give it up and go get a job at Eden Books instead. Undermine it from the inside. Because this?” He gestured around again, “this is cute and all, but no tiny, _pathetic_ bookshop is going to have any effect on a massive demonic presence.”

“Oh. Of-of course.” Aziraphale tried to stop his voice from shaking. “Of course you’re right, Gabriel, only – let-let me try it, this way, a little while longer. And if there are no changes, I’ll –“

Gabriel squeezed his shoulder in a way that to an outside observer might have seemed like friendly support, but it absolutely wasn’t. “I know you will,” he said. And then he was gone.

Aziraphale bent and picked up his letter in trembling hands. He walked it out to the post box, and left the “closed for lunch” sign up for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is such a dick. But I actually really enjoyed writing him because he just says whatever he thinks and doesn’t worry about consequences. In his mind, he’s always right. 
> 
> And that's it for Chapter 4! Fun things and plot development coming in the next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley was, to put it mildly, stressed. The last time he’d been this stressed was – he couldn’t remember, but it had been several centuries. The bookshop had been open for a week and business was not doing as well as he’d hoped. Crowley chalked it up to Aziraphale’s influence on the area. And Aziraphale! Crowley was still reeling from the sight of the angel’s bookshop full of people and _selling books_. It went against everything Crowley thought he’d known about his angelic counterpart. He was not equipped to handle a situation in which the angel actually did his job and thwarted evil on earth, because that would force Crowley to actually do his job and really start being bad.

As if he wasn’t dealing with enough already, his own people had been in touch about his bookshop venture. Granted, Crowley had figured Hastur would mention it to upper management a lot sooner – he’d been expecting them to stop him before he really got going. But this was spectacularly bad timing. Beelzebub had shown up at Eden Books’ grand opening, which would’ve given Crowley a heart attack if that were possible. The whole week had just been one bad shock after another. The Prince of Hell was far more perceptive than Hastur and Ligur, and had immediately seen Crowley’s half-baked explanations about knowledge being demonic power was bullshit. Beelzebub had also noticed Aziraphale’s shop down the street.

“Still feeling attached to that angel, are we? There are ways of dealing with that, Crowley.”

“I _am_ dealing with it. He’ll be driven out of business. He’ll _leave_ ,” Crowley had said, trying to sound sure of himself even though he absolutely wasn’t sure anymore. Beelzebub had merely frowned at him.

“This is your only warning, Crowley. You will control this situation, or we will step in and do it for you. And let me tell you – it will not be pleasant for you if we have to interfere.”

With that, the other demon was gone, leaving Crowley standing alone on the second floor of Eden Books.

So now heaven and hell were both mad at him. Luckily, he had a letter from his pen pal to take his mind off things, temporarily. He read the letter and his brain froze on the closing phrase – do you think we could meet? Many times over the years, Crowley had thought about meeting his pen pal, what it would be like. He’d have to wear his glasses, obviously, because of the snake eyes. His pen pal could never, ever truly know what he was. And yet – his pen pal was actually his friend. And Crowley wanted to meet him. For a demon, that was enough. So he wrote out his reply.

_A,_

_I would like to meet you. Let’s say Friday next (the 13 th). You pick the place. I’ll be there. _

_C_

*

Aziraphale had worried himself sick for most of the week when his usually prompt pen pal didn’t reply. Perhaps he’d horribly misjudged the situation – maybe the man didn’t want to meet. Maybe Aziraphale had just ruined everything hoping for something more. But the reply, when it came, was exactly what he’d wished for. The angel sent a response immediately.

_My dear C,_

_The 13 th is perfect, my friend. I don’t know how familiar you are with London but there’s this little bakery I fancy – I’ll write the address down on a separate page for you so you can keep it with you. Let’s say 3 o’clock, there, on the 13th. It might be a bit old fashioned and cliché but I’ve always loved the idea of recognizing the other person because they’re holding a red rose. So that’s what I’ll have with me._

_See you soon, my friend._

_A_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beezlebub is fun to write too.
> 
> This was a little bit of a shorter chapter, finishing the last of the setup for the pen pals to meet - cause that will definitely go exactly as they've planned...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Friday the 13th at 2:55, Crowley entered the bakery his pen pal had suggested. He’d left the Bentley parked at Eden Books – the bakery was only a short stroll from the shop. It was a quaint little place, the sort of homey location Aziraphale would fancy. Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale knew about the place. He stopped in the waiting area, scanning the few tables to see if anyone was holding a red rose. He’d snorted when he read that part of the letter, because it was such a cliché – but it also indicated that his pen pal saw them potentially becoming more than friends. Even though, deep down where he almost never admitted it, Crowley was hung up on the angel, he was also open to a personal relationship with his pen pal. It could actually be kind of nice – they were already friends. And Crowley could cloak it in the guise of doing something demonic, which would definitely be a bonus for him.

Nobody in the bakery was holding a rose of any color. Crowley frowned, checking his watch. It was now 3 on the dot. The bakery door jingled and someone thumped Crowley on the back trying to get around him.

“I’m terribly sorry.“

Crowley knew that voice.

“Resorting to physical violence, angel, how unlike you. What – “ the rest of Crowley’s retort died in his throat as he laid eyes on Aziraphale, looking annoyed at the demon’s presence and clutching a red rose.

If spontaneous discorporation were possible, Crowley would have done it then and there. Aziraphale, thank Hell, didn’t seem to notice that he’d completely upended Crowley’s world. 

“Oh, it’s you, Crowley. Please stand aside, I’m late for a meeting.”

He didn’t know. The angel didn’t know Crowley was the person he was supposed to be meeting. His pen pal. His _friend._ The demon couldn’t even wrap his brain around the idea. Dear ~~God~~ - ~~Satan~~ -somebody, they’d been pen pals for _years_. And all this time – the angel. His pen pal. 

Crowley couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t. It was absolutely unthinkable. And – if he told Aziraphale the truth – it would hurt him. The angel would be devastated to learn that the friend he so desperately wanted to meet was in reality the demon he despised. Crowley had to play it off, had to recover his cool. He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale.

“A meeting?” He said, “Most business associates don’t bring each other flowers.”

The angel’s cheeks turned a little pink. Crowley tried hard not to notice.

“It’s a meeting of a – personal nature.”

“Oho?” Crowley said, “a _date_ , angel?”

Aziraphale’s flush deepened.

“Not exactly,” he said, “we’ve never met in person.”

“A blind date? I’m surprised at you, angel. I figured you knew all those online dating websites were my side’s.”

“The internet? Oh no, Crowley, I am meeting – “ Aziraphale seemed to be deciding whether to tell him or not. “I am meeting my pen pal.”

“Your pen pal? It’s the 21st century, for Satan’s sake. Nobody on earth has a pen pal anymore!”

Aziraphale huffed. “I do,” he said, “and we’re meeting today, here, and I’m late. I just hope I haven’t missed him.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Crowley, “I’ll just stay until your pen pal shows up.”

“That’s not necessary –“ Aziraphale said, but Crowley was already steering him towards a table. The angel, trapped, reluctantly sat down, but continued glaring at Crowley. A waiter, recognizing Aziraphale, came over to take their order.

“I’d like the chocolate mousse and a lemon bar to start,” said Aziraphale.

“Nothing for me,” said Crowley with a smirk. The waiter left them alone.

“If you’re not going to eat anything, you should leave,” Aziraphale said, glaring at him across the table, “it’s rude.”

“Demon, angel,” said Crowley, propping his feet up on the table for emphasis, “rudeness is in one of the circles of Hell, you know.”

“I’ve no doubt,” said the angel, folding his arms across his chest and glowering in a way Crowley actually found quite endearing.

“So tell me, how are things at the bookshop?” Crowley asked. “Your new business model keeping you afloat?”

“None of your business, is it?” Aziraphale snapped back, “You’d much rather I’d just give up and close.”

“On the contrary, angel, I relish the competition,” Crowley said. “It’s so much more interesting to watch you try to thwart me. Eden Books’ newest location is doing excellent business, in spite of your – best efforts. So by all means. Continue trying.”

The angel was angry now, and Crowley grinned.

“I’m sure you have your bookshop empire to be getting back to, so why don’t you leave?”

Cool as a cucumber, Crowley stood up and tipped an imaginary hat towards the angel.

“Until we meet again,” he said. With as much swagger as he could muster, Crowley exited the bakery, walked back to Eden Books, found a quiet corner, and collapsed completely. He was crying – actually crying! This was a cruel cosmic joke, it had to be. But if it were demonic in origin, Hastur would’ve popped up in the bakery to laugh and crack a joke at Crowley’s expense. It had to be an angelic thing, but why? Why would they orchestrate a deception so complex and not inform Aziraphale (Crowley was completely certain Aziraphale _could not possibly know_ the truth about his pen pal. He would never have written Crowley for so long if he’d known.) What was the purpose of any of it?

“For fuck’s sake,” Crowley said to no one in particular, “why? Why?”

*

Aziraphale sat in the bakery for over an hour, waiting. But his pen pal never showed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that didn't go as well as they'd both hoped. How will Crowley handle this new information?
> 
> Next week's update will be Friday instead of Sunday because I'm away all weekend. Thanks so much for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Two days after the bakery debacle, Crowley had received a letter from his pen pal. Three days after that, he’d finally forced himself to open and read it. A week later, and the letter was still sitting on Crowley’s desk in his flat. Unanswered. Every day after he finished at Eden Books, Crowley came back to his flat, sat down in his desk chair, and stared at the letter, hoping that _this_ time, the proper response would come to him.

_Dear Friend,_

_I sincerely hope we are still friends. I understand if my request to meet you was too sudden. You could have been honest with me if you weren’t ready. I assure you that I would have understood. When it comes down to it, we are only pen pals, and you are under no obligation to take our relationship any further. I just thought we were close enough friends that it might be nice, to meet in person._

_I waited for you, at the bakery, for several hours. While I was there, my competitor accosted me and threw me completely out of sorts. I wish you had been there. I have no doubt you would’ve given him a piece of your mind and perhaps some of that biting wit you possess. I would’ve enjoyed seeing it._

_I hope this letter finds you in good health and that I will hear from you soon. If you don’t want to ever be more than this – it’s all right by me._

_Yours truly,_

_A_

Knowing that the letter had come from Aziraphale made it a hundred times worse. Crowley knew the angel well enough to read between the polite wording of the letter – Aziraphale was devastated that his pen pal hadn’t shown. And the demon wasn’t sure how to respond. There was no explanation good enough. He couldn’t possibly write down the truth. But he couldn’t bear the thought of the angel waiting for a letter, unsure of whether one would come. Crowley had already wasted a week. With a deep sigh, he picked up his pen and began to write.

_A,_

_My friend, I am so sorry about the 13 th. I can’t give you an explanation for my failure to appear – please know that it was not my intention to stand you up. I am sorry that, while you were waiting to meet a friend, you instead had only an enemy for company. _

_I don’t think we should try to meet again. But we are still friends, and I look forward to your letters. They are a bright spot in my life._

_Your friend,_

_C_

The letter he had just written was hardly adequate, but it would have to do. Aziraphale was an angel, so while he would be disappointed he would also be forgiving. Crowley wished there was something more he could do. He’d been trying to be Aziraphale’s friend for centuries. And he was, sort of, Aziraphale’s friend now, since Aziraphale considered his pen pal a friend. A thought wiggled its way into Crowley’s brain. Maybe the demon could _become_ Aziraphale’s friend. He knew all about the angel from the letters he sent. Crowley could use them to create a real friendship. If he and Aziraphale could be friends in real-life, not just on paper – inspired, Crowley left his flat and hopped in the Bentley. He was going to visit Aziraphale.

*

Aziraphale had kept the shop closed all week. His pen pal had failed to come to the bakery, and then failed to respond to his letter in the usual timely fashion. The only conclusion the angel could draw was that he had pushed too hard. His pen pal didn’t want to be friends, or more than friends, or anything at all. It was ridiculous, mourning the loss of a friendship that hadn’t really been much of anything to begin with – all communication with his pen pal had followed the strict rules they’d agreed upon. So really, Aziraphale hadn’t known anything concrete about the man. But he’d known he was witty, and easy to talk to, and had been there for Aziraphale during times he didn’t have anybody else.

The shop bell dinged cheerfully.

“I’m sorry but the shop is closed,” Aziraphale said, without looking up.

“Ah, that’s a shame. I was really hoping to buy a first edition copy of - _The Elephant and his Balloon_.”

Aziraphale got up so rapidly he almost fell. There was Crowley, standing in the middle of the shop with a sardonic grin on his face, holding one of the books Aziraphale had repaired to sell. 

“What are you doing here, Crowley?”

“Just came to say hello, angel, and drop off your mail,” The demon put a letter down on the nearest available flat service. “Also I stopped by that bakery down the street and I thought you might like an éclair.”

“You don’t eat éclairs,” said Aziraphale, in spite of himself moving closer to take the box Crowley offered. Crowley shrugged.

“I don’t, but the people in my employ do. Gotta feed the starving masses, you know.” The demon grinned again.

“I must say, opening a chain of bookshops that employ hundreds of people doesn’t seem terribly demonic.” Aziraphale said, taking a bite of the éclair. It was lovely.

“Of course it is! Otherwise I wouldn’t be involved!” said Crowley, looking very affronted. “I’m corrupting them all with my influence.”

“I visited one, you know. Eden Books.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped. “You what?”

“I went to see one for myself, to see if I could figure out your plan. This was before the one on the corner was finished – I went to the one near Trafalgar Square instead. It didn’t feel demonic to me. And there was a wonderful young fellow – Tom, I think his name was, who was very helpful. Also your bakery and café weren’t too bad either, though not as good as this,” Aziraphale took another bite of éclair. He completely missed Crowley’s horrified expression as he turned his attention to the letter Crowley had put on his table. He recognized the handwriting immediately. It was a letter from his pen pal. 

“Where did you get this?” Aziraphale demanded, whirling on Crowley, éclair forgotten.

“What?” said Crowley, “oh, that? Told you – just dropping off your mail.”

“This didn’t come from my letterbox,” said Aziraphale, “this should’ve been in my rented post box.”

“Should it?” Crowley said, “It ended up in my box at the flat. Mail mix-ups do happen, you know.” He seemed flustered.

“It’s not addressed to me,” Aziraphale said, “how did you know it was mine?”

“Come on, angel, just last week you were meeting up with a pen pal you’d never met, and this is an envelope addressed to ‘A.’ It’s not a stretch.”

It was a big stretch, but before Aziraphale could probe further, Crowley continued.

“Speaking of your pen pal, did he ever turn up?” 

Aziraphale frowned. He didn’t want to discuss his personal life with Crowley, especially not with a letter from his pen pal right there on the table. He needed the demon to leave.

“No,” said Aziraphale curtly, “he was unavoidably detained.” Something in his tone of voice must have indicated his hurt, because Crowley softened a bit.

“That’s a shame, angel. I guess he had a good reason.”

“I’ve no doubt. My pen pal is an incredibly thoughtful person. You couldn’t possibly understand our friendship.”

Crowley flinched, and Aziraphale didn’t understand why. The insult hadn’t been that cutting.

“I’ll leave you to your letter then,” said Crowley. “Have a good day, angel.”

In spite of himself, as Crowley exited his bookshop Aziraphale called out,

“You too, Crowley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates will resume on Sundays starting next week.


	8. Chapter 8

The moment Crowley was gone Aziraphale fell on the letter, ripping it open and reading voraciously. A single tear dropped on the paper, blurring the signature. Aziraphale took a deep breath, and he recovered. His pen pal did not want to meet him – that cut deeply. The angel hadn’t realized how desperate he was for human contact. He’d just had an almost civil conversation with Crowley, for God’s sake.

But his pen pal still wanted to be friends, and the letter had seemed sad. Like the man wanted to meet him but was too shy, or anxious, to do so. And though Aziraphale was disappointed, he could understand those feelings. He sat down to write a response.

_My friend,_

_I am glad to know we are still friends. I was very worried I had driven you away, which was not my intention. Please don’t feel as though you owe me any further explanation regarding the 13th. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to know that my letters are your bit of sunshine on a dreary day. I feel exactly the same about yours._

_I was thinking, perhaps instead of meeting in person, a different sort of connection could be arranged? I am an enormous fan of literature, and I wondered how you would feel about starting a book club between the two of us. If you’re interested, you can pick the first title._

_Looking forward to hearing from you,_

_A_

Aziraphale miracled the letter into his pen pal’s postbox. He was feeling in much better spirits. Tomorrow he would open the shop.

*

Crowley drove into London, specifically to the Eden Books near Trafalgar Square. He parked the Bentley and looked out over all the statues in the square, swarmed by tourists taking pictures. The invention of social media had been one of Crowley’s proudest achievements. He’d gotten a commendation for it. Just for fun, he performed a little demonic miracle and got rid of the Wi-Fi. It would only be out for an hour, but that was more than enough time for people to get frustrated and start taking those frustrations out on other people. Crowley had always been a fan of doing as little work as possible for the biggest reward.

He walked into the Eden Books and surveyed it. Aziraphale had been here and had seen nothing demonic about it. Unfortunately, Crowley couldn’t see anything demonic about it either. Without his constant presence making everything a little bit evil, the bookshop was simply that – a bookshop. Most of the other branches of Eden Books were most likely the same way. If down below ever set foot inside –

“Crowley.”

Crowley jumped about a foot in the air and landed in a very undignified manner. Getting to his feet, he pushed his sunglasses back into place and adopted what he hoped was a menacing pose.

“Hastur, how good of you to stop by. Can I interest you in some reading material?”

Hastur grunted. Crowley was fairly sure the demon didn’t know how to read.

“This doesn’t look like proper demon work, Crowley.”

“Proper demon work? You can’t go picking the buggers off one by one anymore, there isn’t time. This – “ he gestured around, “this is demon work on a much broader scale. The aura of evil is diluted a bit when you’re spreading it to so many people.”

Hastur’s expression hadn’t changed.

“What’s that over there?”

Crowley followed Hastur’s gaze to the children’s section, where the costumed Bookworm character had just begun the 2 o’clock story time. He swore internally.

“It’s a story time, of course. Contributes to illiteracy. Kids don’t learn to read; they fail out of school and join gangs.” Part of Crowley’s demonic skillset included the ability to make up complete bullshit and have people believe it. But it had been a flimsy lie and Hastur wasn’t people.

“We’ll see what down below has to say about this.” He said, and then he was gone in a poof of sulfurous smoke.

“Fuck,” said Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this week - just letting Aziraphale recover and getting Crowley in more trouble. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment or kudos or whatever!


	9. Chapter 9

Aziraphale’s pen pal had written back enthusiastically about the book club idea, and had suggested Ian Fleming’s original James Bond novel as their first. Apparently his pen pal was more into films than novels, so when Aziraphale had chosen _Hamlet_ as their next novel he had sent his friend a recommendation about which movie version to watch if he didn’t want to read the play.

The angel hummed cheerfully to himself as he opened the shop. He was still doing fairly good business, and the Eden Books on the corner didn’t seem as popular now as it had been. Aziraphale sincerely hoped it would go out of business soon. Keeping his shop open all the time was wearing on him. He didn’t have nearly enough time to read books himself anymore. He was barely into the first act of _Hamlet_. Although – and Aziraphale felt a little guilty even thinking it – if that branch of Eden Books closed, he might miss Crowley a little.

The demon had been stopping by every couple of days for the past month. One day he’d shown up with Chinese takeaway, and a few days after that he’d come by and suggested they go for a walk in the park. Walking through the park on a beautiful day had been incredibly enjoyable. What’s more, Aziraphale had actually enjoyed Crowley’s company, which confused and worried him. He was an angel; he wasn’t _supposed_ to spend time with a demon. That’s why he’d been refusing Crowley’s suggested “arrangement” for thousands of years.

Maybe he was going soft. The other angels certainly thought so, had thought so for several hundred years. That’s why Gabriel was always checking in on him unexpectedly. Aziraphale picked up his copy of _Hamlet,_ signed by Shakespeare himself of course, and began to read. The bell on the shop door rang.

“Morning angel,” said Crowley. He was holding a square package in his hands.

“Hello Crowley. Picking up my mail again?” Aziraphale had not forgotten the strangeness of Crowley delivering the letter from his pen pal, but he’d decided it was some kind of demonic trickery on Crowley’s part and hadn’t thought too much more about it.

“No,” said Crowley, looking very uncomfortable, “actually, well, we got this book in, over at Eden, shipped out by mistake if I had to guess, but the supplier said we could keep it and well – I – thought it was better suited to your shop so I figured I’d bring it over. If you’re interested.”

He thrust the package towards Aziraphale. The angel unwrapped it carefully, and inside was a first edition Oscar Wilde, in good condition.

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale said reverently. He smiled at the demon, who looked even more uncomfortable. Was Crowley blushing a little, or was it just the heat of the lights in the shop? “Thank you, Crowley.”

The demon immediately brushed off the gratitude.

“Don’t bother, angel, it’s just a book.”

“Still, it was incredibly nice of you,” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley slammed him against the nearest shelf. His glasses slid down, revealing his yellow snake eyes.

“I’m a demon! I’m not nice! Don’t ever, ever, call me nice! How can you sssssay ssssuch a thing?” In his anger, Crowley’s sibilance reemerged. The demon abruptly let go of Aziraphale and took a step back, breathing deeply, clearly trying to get himself back under control. Aziraphale gave him a moment; surprised that the hissing seemed to bother Crowley. The demon had allowed his sibilance into his speech before, though it had (the angel assumed) been purposeful. A tool Crowley could use to unsettle Aziraphale. But Crowley was the one who was unsettled now.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale softly, “I take it back. I didn’t realize being called – using that word, would upset you so.”

Crowley came back to himself a little and pushed his glasses back onto his nose, hiding his eyes. It occurred to Aziraphale that here, in the bookshop, was one of the few places Crowley didn’t actually have to hide his eyes. But he did anyway. Aziraphale had never thought about it before, but – he really wouldn’t mind, if Crowley wanted to leave his glasses off. Even demons deserved to have a safe space where they could be themselves. Now didn’t seem like the best time to broach the subject. And Crowley was saying something, sounding a little bit hesitant.

“I – you - apology accepted, angel. But don’t - don’t let it happen again. Enjoy the book, won’t you?”

“I will,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley left as abruptly as he had come.

Aziraphale gently shelved his new Oscar Wilde with similar novels and picked up his copy of _Hamlet_ again. He’d gotten it the night he’d attended the premiere of the play. Crowley had been there too; in fact he’d wiggled his way through the crowd to stand beside Aziraphale, just to make the angel uncomfortable. After the show was over, the demon had said,

“That wasn’t half bad.”

And Aziraphale had said, “I rather think it will be an enduring classic,” which had earned him an eye roll from Crowley.

“Of course you do.”

Then Aziraphale had made his excuses and left the theatre, and he hadn’t seen Crowley for a long time after that.

Rousing himself from his thoughts, Aziraphale miracled himself a hot cup of cocoa and settled in with his book. He got caught on one particular phrase - ‘One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.’ It was the sort of sentiment Crowley would’ve liked – the demon often insisted he was a villain. But for some reason Aziraphale didn’t think the verse applied to Crowley. For some reason, Aziraphale felt it fit Gabriel better.

Troubled, Aziraphale set the book down. Perhaps he’d write his pen pal a letter now, rather than waiting for the end of the week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting Aziraphale struggle with his feelings a little bit. Trying to make sure their relationship evolves quickly but also feels sort of realistic.
> 
> New chapter next week! Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley indulge in the time-honored tradition of getting drunk and having feelings.

Crowley rolled into Aziraphale’s shop at 7am on a Wednesday and immediately dropped into a chair.

“Sorry angel, I just need a minute,” he said, “had upper management on my back all morning about the bookshop thing. Managed to defuse the situation for the time being by showing Beelzebub all the work I did on the M25.”

“The bookshop thing?” Aziraphale asked, miracling a mug of cocoa and passing it to Crowley.

“Yeah. Hell doesn’t consider opening a chain of bookshops to be a good use of demonic time and resources.”

“Oh. Well, if it’s any consolation, Heaven feels the same way about my shop.”

“That shithead Gabriel wouldn’t know angelic if it beat him over the head with a halo. Your bookshop is 100% an angelic endeavor, Aziraphale.” Crowley took a deep swig of cocoa, and immediately spat it back out.

“Crowley, really!”

“This isn’t booze, angel, and that’s a mistake.” The demon handed the mug back to him. With a sigh, Aziraphale stood.

“I’ve got a bottle of wine in the back. I’ll go fetch it.”

To his surprise, Aziraphale didn’t think twice about leaving Crowley alone in the shop while he located the wine. The demon had been visiting so much that Aziraphale had gotten used to him. The idea of being so friendly with a demon should have bothered the angel, and not long ago it would have, but – Aziraphale was lonely. His pen pal was wonderful, but recently writing to the man had left him feeling terribly alone. His only friend was someone he’d never even met. They were on their third book now, his pen pal’s choice. The man had chosen a more modern story, _American Gods_ , and Aziraphale was enjoying it immensely despite himself. It was not a story he thought Heaven would approve of.

“It’s white wine, I’m afraid,” he said as he came back out front. Crowley shrugged.

“It’ll do,” he said.

*

The wine was good and as dismal as Crowley’s morning had been, his afternoon was spent in a pleasant haze of alcohol and good company. After the first bottle was gone, he’d miracled up another one, and then Aziraphale had, and by the time evening came they were several bottles in. Under the significant influence of alcohol, Crowley’s tongue was looser than usual. And there was something that had been weighing on him ever since he’d begun trying to be Aziraphale’s friend. He’d tried multiple times in the past and always been rebuffed. But this time he hadn’t been. Something had changed.

“Angel,” Crowley asked, words slightly slurred, “are we friends now?”

“Friends?” said Aziraphale, sounding equally sloshed, “I – we’re not enemies. At least I don’t think we are. But we shouldn’t be. Friends, I mean. Heaven wouldn’t like it.”

“Screw them,” said Crowley, “Gabriel can stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale sounded scandalized; “you can’t say that ‘bout an angel.”

“I can, I’m a demon. What’s he going to do, make me fall again? Too late! I’m already as low as it gets!” Crowley was getting maudlin, and Aziraphale had fallen very quiet. “I didn’t mean to fall – I didn’t, I just asked questions, didn’t know that was enough to – oh hell,” Crowley sobered up abruptly, “ignore me, angel, I –“

“You asked questions?” Aziraphale repeated, now sober as well, “that’s it? I – I never knew – “

“It’s not like I publicize it,” said Crowley, “no one on either side cares how it happened, just that it did and I have a role to play now. No one ever asked how I felt about it.”

“How do you feel about it?” Aziraphale asked.

“It’s complicated. I wasn’t really good at being an angel, but depending on whom you ask I’m not a proper demon either. That’s why I like it here, on Earth. I get to do my own thing, without anyone hanging over my shoulder.”

“I like it here too,” said Aziraphale softly, “I like humanity, and I like my books. But it does get lonely. That’s why I started writing to my pen pal. It was an easy way to connect with someone.”

Crowley was startled. Aziraphale had not voluntarily mentioned his pen pal ever since Crowley had ‘found out’ about the letter writing.

“I can see the appeal, I guess,” said Crowley, “have you asked him to meet up again?”

The angel sighed.

“No. I haven’t. He doesn’t seem to want to.”

“Maybe he’s just afraid.”

“Crowley, never in my life has anyone been afraid of me.”

“Not afraid of you, angel, obviously. Letter writing is safe because it can get intensely personal with no strings attached. Meeting in person – that’s a bit of a different story, isn’t it?”

“I suppose you’re right. It would be nice to have a friend, that’s all.”

“We’re friends, angel,” said Crowley forcefully, expecting a denial. Aziraphale looked him in the eye.

“You know Crowley, I think we are.” And he popped the cork on another bottle of wine. “Shall we toast to it?”

Crowley swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. He could hear his heart beat in his ears as he took the glass of wine Aziraphale handed him. Their glasses clinked together.

“Cheers,” he managed to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thanks for reading!
> 
> I hope everyone, wherever you are in the world, is staying safe. There's a lot going on right now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I forgot what day of the week it was. Sorry for the delay - here's the next chapter, everyone!

_A,_

_Glad you liked ‘American Gods.’ I’m not going to break the book club rules and choose twice in a row. It’s your turn. If you really want to read another Neil Gaiman, I’ll choose one again next time. I do like your picks too, you know. I was never really much of a reader before this. There’s a friend of mine – well, he wasn’t always a friend, but he is now. Anyway he reads a lot, but I never saw the appeal. Now I do. So thanks for that. Let me know what book you’d like to read next._

_Your friend,_

_C_

After a week of rainy London weather, the sun was finally shining, and it was so beautiful outside that Aziraphale couldn’t stay in. He needed to pick a book and respond to his pen pal’s letter, but it could wait a little bit. The idea of a stroll in the park and maybe feeding the ducks, then stopping for ice cream on the way home was too appealing. And he thought maybe he’d swing by Eden Books and invite Crowley, if he was available and interested.

It was sort of a strange feeling, _wanting_ the demon to be around. But Aziraphale had gotten sort of used to having Crowley near, especially now that they were friends. That was still a strange thought to have, and one he wasn’t entirely comfortable with even though he knew it was true.

The demon had continued coming to the bookshop regularly. He always brought little things with him – treats from the bakery, or carryout from a restaurant, or a bottle of wine, that sort of thing. A few days after they’d shared many, many, bottles of wine, Crowley had appeared at the shop bearing flowers – daisies, Aziraphale’s favorites. Which was very sweet, but flowers felt so, so – intimate. Aziraphale had gently but firmly told him that he didn’t have to bring gifts every time. They were friends; the demon didn’t have to keep trying to prove himself worthy of that relationship (and Aziraphale was quite certain that’s what Crowley was doing). But the next time he’d shown up at the bookshop Crowley had brought nothing but himself, so Aziraphale knew he’d gotten the message.

He left the ‘Closed’ sign up in the shop window and walked down the street towards Eden Books.

*

Ever since he’d opened this branch of Eden Books near Aziraphale, Crowley had received several nearly discorporating shocks. And he had another one when he went down to deal with a customer complaint and Aziraphale waved cheerfully at him from the religion section.

“Angel?”

“Hello Crowley! I was wondering if you’d like to go for a stroll in the park?”

“I – what? I mean - yes. I just have one thing to deal with first.”

“Take your time. I’m quite happy here,” said Aziraphale, and he started browsing again.

Crowley dealt with the customer as quickly as he could and came back to the religion section, but Aziraphale wasn’t there.

“Crowley!”

He turned and saw that Aziraphale was flipping through a book in the cooking section.

“Have you ever made any of these recipes, Crowley? They all look delicious!”

“You know I don’t eat,” said Crowley.

“That’s true, you don’t. And I don’t cook, but perhaps I should learn. It could be fun. And it would give me something to do if my shop closes down.”

Crowley’s eyes flashed under his dark glasses.

“Your shop is not closing, angel. Not by my hand. You were right in the first place, we’re not competitors, we never were.” He wasn’t just talking about the bookshops anymore, “we’re on our own side. Together. I’ve been saying it for years.”

Aziraphale gently shelved the cookbook and looked at Crowley. Crowley got the feeling the angel was seeing into his soul.

“I never thought you were right about that before. But now I think you could be.” The angel offered his hand, and the demon took it. “It’s a beautiful day for a walk,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley had never thought about holding Aziraphale’s hand as they walked through the park on a beautiful spring day in central London. The idea was so far-fetched that even the combination of those words had never occurred to him. But the reality was wonderful. The warm sun beat down and made Crowley’s snake heart happy. He wasn’t really cold-blooded, since he was a demon, but rain and chilly weather definitely made him feel more sluggish.

“In this light you actually may need those sunglasses,” said Aziraphale.

“Some species of snake see quite well in bright sunlight,” said Crowley, “their eyes have lenses that naturally block UV light.”

“Really?” said Aziraphale, “That’s very interesting, Crowley. I don’t really know much about snakes.”

“I do,” said Crowley, and they walked on, hands still loosely connected. They didn’t speak much after that, just walked on in a companionable silence. If he’d thought Aziraphale wouldn’t notice, Crowley would have frozen the moment in time so it would last longer. They walked the full distance of the park and back, until the shadows of the trees started to lengthen. 

“This was a good idea, angel,” said Crowley. Aziraphale beamed at him.

“It was, wasn’t it? Hopefully the weather will stay pleasant like this for a bit longer so we can do this again.”

His smile was so broad, and he looked so happy – Crowley was seized by the realization that he wanted the angel to always look that happy. He’d spent so long trying to win Aziraphale’s friendship that his feelings had morphed into something stronger without his consent. Crowley squashed those feelings as viciously as he could. He squeezed the angel’s hand gently.

“I’m sure we will. In the meantime – I’ll come to you at your shop, okay? I don’t think you should come by Eden Books again.”

He’d ruined the moment. Aziraphale’s face fell.

“I don’t mean it like that, Aziraphale. I just – Hastur popped in unexpectedly last month, and it’s only been a week and a half since Beelzebub was there. My lot don’t really give a lot of warning, and you being there when they show up would be very, very bad.”

“I understand, Crowley. Gabriel does the same thing, you know. I never know when he’s going to swing by for a visit.”

“I’m under intense scrutiny from my side right now, and I don’t want you accidently caught in the middle of it. I may be required to do something a bit more demonic than I usually bother with so they’ll get off my ass. If I do, I’ll let you know. Maybe you can thwart me, and then Gabriel will leave you alone for a decade or so.”

“I appreciate your concern for me. It’s very –“ Crowley saw the word ‘nice’ form on Aziraphale’s lips, but he changed it to, “honest of you to be so open.”

“What’re friends for?” Crowley grinned broadly, and Aziraphale smiled back.

“How would you feel about stopping for ice cream?” The angel asked.

“I could be persuaded,” said Crowley. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is really deeply curious, the fact about snakes and UV light is from a 2016 study by the Natural History Museum. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter of sweetness and light! Next chapter things are going to get ugly. 
> 
> As usual, thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 500 hits! Thanks for reading, everyone!

Aziraphale flipped the sign so everyone would know the bookshop was open for business. The bell jingled immediately.

“Eden Books is still there, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale’s heart sank.

“Hello Gabriel,” he said, “so lovely of you to stop by. It’s true, Eden Books is still there, but my sales have been extremely high this month and I feel certain –“

“No you don’t,” said Gabriel, “you’ve had your time to run them out. Shut down your shop, and go get a job there. Bring it down from the inside.”

“I – I – I’ll have to organize some sort of going-out-of-business sale.”

Gabriel flipped the sign on the door from ‘Open’ back to ‘Closed.’

“You’re closed now. Effective immediately. I expect a detailed report on your plan to close Eden Books within the next 24 hours. Okay?”

“Yes, of course, Gabriel.”

Gabriel clapped him on the back so hard he almost stumbled.

“Great,” his smiled didn’t reach his eyes, “well it’s been great talking to you Aziraphale, but I have to go now. I have lots to do, and so do you.”

And just as quickly as he’d come in, Gabriel was gone. And Aziraphale’s bookshop was closed forever. The shock was so great that he had to sit down. Decades, _centuries_ he’d been here, in this location, at his bookshop. Just quietly existing. And now it was all ruined.

Up until a few months ago, Aziraphale would have laid the blame on Crowley and his demonic chain of bookshops. But he knew that was completely unfair and unfounded. Crowley was a demon, sure, but he hadn’t ever really been trying to put Aziraphale out of business. As it was, Aziraphale simply cried.

*

_Dear friend,_

_I hardly know what to say. I own a shop, as I believe I’ve mentioned, and you’ve heard about my past troubles with an old foe. Well, he’s not an opponent anymore, really, and it’s not his fault but – I’m going out of business. A superior of mine showed up at my shop and told me to shut it down. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I’ve been at this location so long, I don’t know anything else._

_Forgive me for taking my troubles out on you. It’s not my intention. I do deeply appreciate it that you listen. I hope you’re doing well and are enjoying the novel I chose. Let me know when you’re finished and what you’d like to read next. It will be your turn to choose._

_Grateful for you,_

_A_

Crowley was as angry as he’d ever been. He sat in his office at the Eden Books near Aziraphale’s shop. He’d been planning to take a long lunch and bring the angel something from that Italian restaurant he liked, but now – now he didn’t know what to do.

The letter was dated two days ago. That was two whole days Aziraphale had been suffering, because of Crowley. Oh, the angel didn’t blame him – the letter made that clear. But Crowley blamed himself. His operation had drawn attention to Aziraphale. If he’d never come to town, Gabriel (he had no doubt that Gabriel was the one who’d closed the bookshop) wouldn’t have had a reason to demand anything of Aziraphale. The bookshop would still be open, and Aziraphale would still be living his peaceful existence, writing to his pen pal and not having to deal with Crowley.

His office door opened.

“Excuse me sir, there’s a customer out here who’d like to speak to the manager and –“

Crowley roared in rage and his horrified employee immediately shut the door, muttering an apology.

“Dammit!” Crowley swore, “for God, Satan, _for somebody’s sake!_ ” He slammed his fists into his desk, and then put his head down on it. He’d ruined Aziraphale’s life without even trying. All because he wanted to be friends with someone else who understood what it was like, living on Earth for thousands of years.

He should’ve told the angel the truth about his pen pal when they’d met in the bakery. Aziraphale would’ve been furious, rejected any and all overtures of friendship, and Crowley could’ve moved on with his life. He could’ve closed down that branch of Eden Books and gone away for a while, like he did every time Aziraphale rejected his attempts at friendship. But no, he’d taken the coward’s way out and now the angel truly considered him a friend. And he didn’t deserve it. There was only one way to fix things, really fix them, and Crowley knew it would mean the end of their friendship.

 _My friend,_

_I’m so sorry about your shop. That’s a weak sentiment. It’s the best I can do in writing. I am truly, deeply, sorry. I – think I’d like to comfort you in person. I’m not someone who goes in for shows of emotion, but it sounds like you could use a hug._

_Maybe we could try it again – meeting each other? You pick the place, and I’ll be there, come Hell or high water._

_C_

Crowley chuckled without humor at his little joke and used a demonic miracle to send the letter straight to Aziraphale’s post box. He had to decide what his best move was now. As soon as Aziraphale and his ‘pen pal’ met in person it would be curtains for their friendship.

Crowley decided to make the most of it while he could still be comforting for the angel. He’d go to the bookshop with some of Aziraphale’s favorite pastries, as if he didn’t know what had happened. Then when Aziraphale told him, he could offer comfort and chocolate. It wasn’t enough, Crowley knew. But it was all he had at the moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the angst, everybody! I promise the ending is happy! 
> 
> You may have noticed there is a set ending now - 14 chapters total for this fic, I can't believe it. This clocks in as one of the longest things I've every written. 
> 
> Update next week will be Saturday instead of Sunday!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I almost forgot I was posting today instead of tomorrow! Sorry guys here's the chapter!

“Angel, what’s happened? Why is the shop dark?” Crowley came through the bookshop door with a paper box of doughnuts, which he promptly set down on the nearest flat surface when he saw Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale knew he must look awful. Since he didn’t need to eat or sleep, most of the past two days had been spent crying.

“Aziraphale?” said Crowley softly, reaching out one hand and hovering over the angel’s shoulder, like he wasn’t sure his touch would be welcome. Aziraphale settled things by throwing himself into Crowley as a fresh wave of tears overtook him. Crowley’s hands hesitantly went to his back and rested there.

Aziraphale didn’t know how long he stood there sobbing in Crowley’s arms, but he gradually became aware that the demon was making little soothing noises – not words, exactly, just vague mumbles of comfort and friendship. Aziraphale tried to breathe deeply, calm himself down. As soon as his breathing started to even out, Crowley’s grip loosened. Aziraphale shifted so he could hug Crowley, insuring that the demon didn’t let go. Crowley’s grip tightened again. For a little while longer they stood together, just breathing. It felt peaceful, it felt _right._

“Thank you, Crowley,” said Aziraphale.

“Anytime, angel,” said Crowley, and he sounded like he meant it. “Do you want to talk about it?” He drew back and looked Aziraphale in the eye. He even removed his glasses. Yellow eyes looked directly into Aziraphale’s.

“Not really,” the angel said, “but I should tell someone, and you deserve to know. Gabriel closed down my shop.”

There were still many points where their bodies were touching, and Aziraphale felt Crowley almost vibrating with rage.

“He did what?!” The demon sounded as angry as Aziraphale had ever heard him. “How dare he! Who the fuck does he think he is? I’ll rip his fucking wings off and -” And then, quieter, seeming afraid of the answer, “was it because of me?” 

Aziraphale bit his lip. He couldn’t, didn’t blame Crowley for this. The shop was quiet for a long moment as Aziraphale thought about how to answer.

“It was because of Gabriel. His decision. I – I rather think he would have done it regardless. He just needed an excuse.”

As soon as Aziraphale said it, he knew that was the truth. Eden Books and Crowley had just been a scapegoat for Gabriel to blame, so he could do what he wanted.

Crowley was silent for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, angel. I truly am. I – I wish things had been different.”

“So do I. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Maybe I’ll travel for a bit, see the world. It’s been ages since I went to Paris.”

“Not since the Revolution,” said Crowley, smiling a little. Aziraphale smiled back. Crowley had rescued him during the French Revolution, but Aziraphale had barely thanked him, preferring not to associate with the demon. He wasted a lot of time over the centuries trying not to associate with Crowley.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in joining me?” Aziraphale asked. “Surely there’s lots of temptations to perform in Paris, and it might keep your people off your back for a while.”

Crowley’s smile faded. He pulled away slightly, and Aziraphale didn’t understand why. Had he been too forward?

“I apologize,” he said, “you have your work here, of course.”

“It’s not that, angel,” said Crowley, “I just – I can’t. I can’t, right now. I should go.”

The demon fled, leaving Aziraphale confused and hurt. He’d also left the box of doughnuts. Aziraphale decided to eat his feelings.

*

Crowley had run like a coward from an offer he wanted so badly to take. But it was still there in the back of his mind, the knowledge that he was lying to Aziraphale. He couldn’t go anywhere with the angel until Aziraphale knew the truth. And once he knew Crowley was his pen pal, which Crowley had known for months and hadn’t said anything about, the offer to travel together would be rescinded.

Crowley drove the Bentley back to Eden Books and went back to his office. He couldn’t continue to work down the street from Aziraphale’s bookshop (the place where Aziraphale’s bookshop _used to be_ ). So Crowley wrote his resignation from management of that particular location, and sent a company-wide email announcing that he was stepping down as CEO of Eden Books, effectively immediately. Though he’d genuinely enjoyed the business in the beginning, it had (in the past few months) become so stressful that quitting was a relief. And it would get Beelzebub and the others off his back as well.

Crowley would not go to Paris with Aziraphale. Aziraphale wouldn’t _want_ Crowley to go to Paris with him. But Crowley could go somewhere else, take some time and get his own life sorted out. Maybe even sleep for a couple of decades. As soon as Aziraphale knew the truth, and hated Crowley again, Crowley would be free. 

*

A few days after the shop’s closure, Crowley’s rejection, and a truly epic doughnut binge, Aziraphale finally checked his mail. He read his pen pal’s letter several times and found he was having difficulty processing his feelings. Once, not that long ago, Aziraphale would have jumped at the chance to meet his pen pal. But now – he was going to be leaving the country shortly, and it didn’t seem fair to meet the man, increase their connection, and then immediately leave. And Crowley’s abrupt exit from the bookshop was still weighing heavily on him, even more so than the shop’s closure.

Pushing all thoughts of Crowley from his head (why were there so many of them? Surely he hadn’t been thinking about the demon that much,) Aziraphale made his decision. He would write his pen pal back and agree to meet. The man had been a source of comfort for him before, maybe he could be one now, when Aziraphale was as alone as he’d ever been. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're still at a pretty high level of angst rolling into the end. Last chapter goes up next Sunday - I wonder what will happen?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, everyone!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, this chapter is so fluffy - I'm not even sorry. They deserved some fluff here at the end. Enjoy!

Pacing back and forth in the park, clutching a red rose, Aziraphale tried to calm his nerves by taking deep breaths. It wasn’t helping. He had chosen a less intimate location for this meeting with his pen pal. The afternoon sun was warm and the park was filled with people laughing and talking and going for walks and feeding the ducks. The angel dearly hoped that he and his pen pal would shortly be doing the same. He checked his watch. Another few minutes still to wait. He took his pen pal’s letter out of his pocket and read it again.

_A,_

_The park sounds perfect. I know exactly where that is. I’ll bring a rose as well, this time – I feel like I owe you one._

_I am nervous about seeing you but I promise I’ll be there. I can only hope you won’t be disappointed to meet me._

_Yours,_

_C_

Aziraphale couldn’t imagine why his pen pal thought he’d be disappointed. He’d wanted to meet the man for so long. At least it sounded like his pen pal was committed to showing up this time. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he could handle another rejection – there’d been so many recently. 

The angel went and sat down on a vacant bench so he’d stop pacing. So much had happened since his shop had been closed down. The branch of Eden Books nearby had also closed, leaving Aziraphale very worried about Crowley.

He hadn’t heard from the demon since Crowley had fled from the bookshop the week before. The angel had taken the tube to Trafalgar Square to check on the Eden Books there, and had found it fully operational. That had been a relief. If Eden Books as a whole was still thriving, then Crowley must have shut down the branch on purpose. But Aziraphale was still concerned about the demon’s mental state. They’d been getting along so well – Aziraphale didn’t know what had upset Crowley so much that he’d run away like that.

Someone behind Aziraphale cleared their throat.

“Angel,” said a familiar voice. Aziraphale turned and saw Crowley standing there, looking painfully nervous and holding a red rose in front of him like a shield. For a moment Aziraphale didn’t say anything. He looked at the rose in Crowley’s hand, then down at the rose in his own hand.

“Oh,” he said, getting off the bench and turning to face the demon.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t know – well, not until the bakery, then I knew _obviously_ , but you hated me and I didn’t know how to tell you and it would’ve been so devastating because we weren’t friends – I didn’t want to hurt you so I just didn’t say anything. I thought we could _become_ friends and then it would be alright but I just made things worse and I –“

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, quietly but firmly, “I – I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”

He wrapped the demon in a tight embrace. Crowley, clearly stunned, was slow to respond. But Aziraphale didn’t let go and soon Crowley was holding onto him just as firmly. 

“Angel, I – “ Crowley sounded absolutely wrecked, “I –“

“It’s alright, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, gently running his hands over the demon’s back, “I understand. You did the right thing.”

They pulled back from each other and Aziraphale saw the demon’s eyes were shiny under his glasses.

“You – you don’t hate me?” Crowley asked.

“No,” said Aziraphale, “in fact I may love you,” and the demon dropped his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. Crowley was shaking, and the angel’s shoulder was starting to feel damp. His demon was _crying._ Aziraphale was suddenly aware that they were in a _very_ public place, and miracled them back to his closed bookshop. He let Crowley cry as long as he needed to, tenderly running his fingers through the demon’s hair and miracling his glasses away. After several minutes Crowley seemed to get himself back under control.

“Did you mean that?” He asked, red-rimmed yellow eyes meeting Aziraphale’s own, “You love me?”

“I do,” said Aziraphale, “I don’t suppose - you feel the same way?” He was fairly certain he knew the answer, because angels could sense that sort of thing and he’d always felt it around Crowley, though he’d ignored it. But it was still nerve-wracking, asking the demon to admit to his long-held feelings.

“Honestly, angel,” Crowley said, “You really had to ask? I’ve only loved you for 6000 years.”

And there was only one way to respond to that so Aziraphale kissed him. Crowley returned the kiss immediately, his hands coming up almost reverently to cup the angel’s face. When they finally broke apart, Crowley pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s.

“I love you,” he said.

“Come to Paris with me,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley’s face split into a massive grin.

“The Bentley is waiting out front,” he said, “I can be packed in fifteen minutes. I’ll swing back here and pick you up.”

“You know, my dear,” said Aziraphale, “all the years we’ve known each other, and I’ve never actually seen your flat.” Crowley, bless him, took Aziraphale’s meaning immediately.

“There’s a first time for everything, angel,” said the demon.

Aziraphale leaned up and kissed him again. His bags for the trip were already packed, so he miracled them down the stairs and Crowley promptly picked them up.

“Tartan luggage, Aziraphale?” He arched an eyebrow at the angel.

“You love it, don’t pretend otherwise,” said Aziraphale.

“God-Satan-someone help me, I do.” And that was worth another kiss. 

Aziraphale and Crowley went out the bookshop door arm in arm. The angel turned his key in the lock. The bookshop would stay safe, and vacant, until he returned. Aziraphale had no intention of abandoning his books long-term. Indeed, a large number of the angel’s books were packed in his bags. There was, in Aziraphale’s mind, no sense going abroad without any reading material. And if he happened to pick up a few new titles in Paris, well, miracling up an extra suitcase would be quite simple.

Crowley set the angel’s luggage gently in the back of the car, then ran around and opened the passenger side of the Bentley for Aziraphale to slide in. For a long moment they sat there quietly, content to just be with each other. Aziraphale paused in his admiration of the Bentley’s interior to look over at Crowley, who was staring intently at him.

“What is it, dear?” He asked the demon.

“You’re in my car,” said Crowley breathlessly, “you’re sitting in the passenger seat of my Bentley and you love me and we’re going to Paris together. I just –“

“It’s too much?” Aziraphale asked.

“It’s _perfect_ ,” and this time Crowley initiated the kiss.

“I’m not complaining,” said Aziraphale, “but at the rate we’re going we’ll never make it to your flat, much less to the airport.”

“Not to worry, angel,” said Crowley as he turned the key in the ignition, “we have all the time in the world.”

The Bentley tore down the street, and Aziraphale didn’t look back as they drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's FINISHED. I can't believe it. This was my first time ever writing fanfic, and I had an absolute blast doing it. Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos - you've all been so wonderful!


End file.
